Thompson's mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. "See," said the nearest green man. "I told you so. And don't take on so," he added in alarm. "You'll dislocate your jaw." Thompson turned his back to the vision and went into the cupboard. He poured a shot of rye and downed it in one quick movement. The bottle in his hand, he sat down on the edge of the bed, regaining his composure. "Why do you do that?" inquired the gnome with curiosity. "If I'm going to go on seeing you," Thompson explained, "I may as well be drunk. It helps." "You mean you still attribute our existence to the effects of alcohol?" inquired the other. "Oh no," Thompson denied vigorously. "To the bitters." "You jest," said the gnome in hurt tones. "Don't you want to become a great author?" "Certainly," Thompson agreed hastily. "You mean you have more ideas?" "An infinite number," said the green man, waving a deprecatory hand. "We thought of an excellent novel," he added, "while you slept last night. Do you want to hear it?" "Of course!" Thompson jerked on his shorts. "Wait, though. I need breakfast first." He writhed into a shirt. "Plenty of time," said the greenie. "While you're gone, we'll assimilate some more ideas." "Good," said Thompson, pulling on his trousers. "Shall I bring you something to eat?" "We don't eat," said the other airily. "You can bring a spotlight, though. We can sit best on a beam of light." "Right," said Thompson. He opened the door. "Goodbye," remarked the gnome. "Goodbye," Thompson hurried from the room. * * * * * Thompson closed the door of the phone booth behind him. "Hello," he said. "I'd like to make an appointment with Doctor Vossman. Today, if possible." "Just a moment," said the secretary. He heard her riffle through some papers. "What date did you say you wanted an appointment?" "Today!" Thompson repeated. His breathing into the mouthpiece came out quite clearly in the receiver against his ear. "Doctor Vossman can see you today at three. What is the name, please?" "Thompson. Laurence Thompson." "Very well, sir. Today at three." "OK." Thompson hung up and emerged from the phone booth. His ham and eggs were ready at the counter and he sat down and wolfed them. He counted his money as he went out and decided to stop in the hardware store down the street and buy a spotlight. When he got back to his apartment the sunlight was coming in the window at a forty-five degree angle and the gnomes were almost sitting on the floor. Thompson plugged in the spotlight and turned the beam upward. "There," he told the green men. "That okay?" "Thank you," said the nearest gnome. The whole group rose in the air and floated over to the spotlight beam, sitting rather comfortably on the edge of it. "We thought of three excellent short stories while you were away. Would you like to hear them?" "Yeah, sure," responded Thompson. Might as well take advantage of the situation while it lasted.